to hear of Jemmy being a cripple-as he is, poor boy! And said she, 'I'll certainly come and see him-perhaps something could be done for him,— poor little fellow!' she said over and over again; and it went to my heart to see how sorrowful it made her."

"And yet they say she's not a mother herself," observed her husband.

"But she was. Their only one died two years ago; and that makes it all plain, and tells us why the tear stood in her eye even while she smiled upon us."

"Oh! there are recollections

Round mothers' hearts that cling,

That mingle with the tears,

The smiles, of after-years,

With oft awakening.

"Thou 'lt say,-My first-born blessing!

It almost broke my heart

When thou wert forced to go:
And yet, for thee I know
'Twas better to depart.

"God took thee in His mercy,

A lamb untasked, untried;
He fought the fight for thee,
He won the victory!

And thou art sanctified!

"I look around and see

The evil ways of men,
And oh beloved child!
I'm more than reconciled

To thy departure then.

"The little arms that clasped me,
The innocent lips that pressed,
Would they have been as pure
Till now, as when of yore

I lulled thee on my breast?

"Now (like a dew-drop shrined
Within a crystal stone),

Thou 'rt safe in heaven, my dove!
Safe with the source of love,

The Everlasting One.

"And when the hour arrives
From flesh that sets me free,
Thy spirit may await,
The first at heaven's gate

To meet and welcome me!"

-Wordsworth.

P

CHAPTER XXIII.

THERE has been a terrible wreck off the southern coast of England. Authentic accounts were late in reaching Bloomfield, and, in the meantime, the most conflicting statements respecting it were freely circulated, and believed or disbelieved, apparently without any reason for the one or the other. at length the morning papers arrived, and the details, eagerly read by those fortunate enough to get a sight of them, were as eagerly recounted to those less favoured.

But

Such a storm, The Times affirmed, had not been known for years, nor so fearful a wreck. It was quite unexpected, too, except by the captain, who, very early in the evening, discerned sure symptoms that "a stiff gale was brewing." The passengers were all taken by surprise. Having weathered many a storm when far away on the wide ocean, they could not believe in danger so near home, not knowing that a storm near land is often much more dangerous, especially if the coast be low and shelving, than one far out at sea.

The vessel was the Ida, from Australia, having two hundred passengers on board, besides the

captain and crew, and a considerable quantity of gold. All that day-the last day of the long voyage -there was great joy on board the Ida. Many of the passengers had not seen England for years. Indeed, some who had gone out as boys were now returning old and gray-headed. To all, the one absorbing thought was- By this time to-morrow we shall be at home." So wrote The Times, professing to have received details direct from one of the passengers who was saved.

66

All day the weather was propitious, the sky clear and bright, the sea calm as a mill-pond. Mothers remained on deck with their children, now and again telling them that soon they would be at home with dear Granny, who used to write them such loving little notes, and send them such pretty gifts every Christmas. And as the white cliffs of Old England began to stand out clear against the sky, some of the passengers-yes, men as well as boys— leaped upon the deck for very joy; and a few ladies, joined by the captain and two of the crew who had good tenor voices, sang the old song—

"Home sweet home! there's no place like home!"

But towards evening, what a change! The sky grew dark and lowering.

"It's as I feared," the captain said to one of the passengers; "we shall have to face a strong easterly gale to-night.'

"Well, with good strong cables, you don't fear, do you?" asked the passenger. The captain did

not reply, and the passenger (The Times' authority) grew more uneasy.

Darkness soon covered the face of the sky, lit up occasionally by flashes of lightning, which added to the wild horrors of that night. The sea roared, the wind howled; the captain's orders could, with difficulty, be heard; and in a moment the ship struck against the cliffs,-those cliffs which looked so friendly but a few hours before!

"Let go the anchors," shouted the captain, and was instantly obeyed. The passengers, realising their danger, rushed on deck, and just at that moment the chain of one of the anchors snapped, causing the ship to give a tremendous lurch. The captain then ordered the minute-gun to be fired, and rockets to be thrown up, as signals of their danger. "Now," he said, "there is no more that I can do. If we are not soon sent help from shore, we are lost." "And then," said The Times, "went up to heaven a cry of anguish, a wail of terror, such as no words can describe. But there were some on board who remembered that there is a God in heaven, a hearer and answerer of prayer, and to Him they had recourse in this hour of peril. The bravest amongst us" (still wrote the passenger) "was a lady who was returning home, a widow with one little girl. When the captain spoke those words of calm despair, she said to him and those about him, 'Let me read you a few words,' and opening her Bible she read, at intervals

"They that go down to the sea in ships, that do